A Useful Woman (10 page)

Willis's Rooms

Almack's advertised that it was built with hot bricks and boiling water: Think what a rage there must be for public places if this notice, instead of terrifying, could draw anybody thither.

—
E. Beresford Chancellor,
The Annals of Almack's

For such a famous building, Almack's Assembly Rooms was in truth a graceless, squared-off edifice. There was no gate or garden to soften the facade, just an iron area railing and a porter in a plain greatcoat to guard the unprepossessing doors. Only the arched windows of its first floor lent it any sort of distinction.

Thankfully, as this was neither a Wednesday nor a Monday, Kings Street was relatively clear of traffic and Rosalind was able to make her way up the walk without hazarding her limbs or her hems.

After her unsettling conversation with Lord Blanchard, Rosalind had returned to the patronesses with Lady Blanchard's shawl and the news that Lord Blanchard was going to investigate the betting book at White's.

“Excellent man!” cried Lady Jersey. She had taken a seat at Lady Blanchard's writing desk and was scribbling away furiously even as she spoke. “It would certainly be most considerate
of Mr. Aimesworth to have left proof of his folly in writing, but what a waste and bother! I shall speak with my husband immediately about putting an end to the practice of that book in the club. Should any child of mine display so little taste and discretion . . .”

“Young men must be allowed their follies, Sarah,” said Lady Blanchard softly.

“But not a complete disregard for taste and
ton
. It is up to us to demonstrate the benefits and advantages of living according to the best of both. What are we for otherwise?” Lady Jersey jabbed her quill onto her page. “Miss Thorne, we have been considering your recommendations and have agreed. I hope we may prevail upon you to carry a note to Mr. Willis at Almack's asking him to come to us this afternoon? We will not be meeting in the offices after all, but rather at the Countess Lieven's during the confidential hour.”

Of course, Rosalind had agreed, and was duly dispatched in Lady Blanchard's carriage with the letter, and a hundred other instructions, most of which she fully intended to ignore.

The porter was not happy to let her in, but as she invoked the lady patronesses' names, backed by the letter she carried, he eventually relented and conducted Rosalind up to the second floor. If her hand trembled against the banister as they climbed the curving stair, she was determined not to let it trouble her, or slow her step.

For the second time in as many days, Rosalind walked into Almack's great ballroom. This time, however, it was a bright and busy hive of activity. The double doors were wide open and all the draperies had been tied back to allow in as much light as possible. Three women wielding stiff brushes knelt under the musicians' gallery and scrubbed at the floorboards. The sloshing, swishing noise of their labor carried through the room along with the acrid fumes of lye soap.

“Gently, lads, gently!” Mr. Willis's gruff voice rang out overhead. “Tear those and it'll be coming out of your hide, and your pay!”

Mr. Willis stood in the musicians' gallery, calling his directions to a pair of men in aprons and shirtsleeves. One held a folding ladder so that two others could climb up and unhook the red velvet curtains that framed the gallery. From this vantage point, Mr. Willis soon saw Rosalind crossing the room. He gestured to the workmen and a moment later she heard him thumping down the hidden stairs.

“Look sharp now, my girls,” he said as he passed the scrubwomen. “Be sure to get it all. Can't have the ladies worrying about their lace and hems, now can we?”

“No, sir,” they answered in a ragged chorus. Mr. Willis did not stop to acknowledge this, but faced Rosalind and tucked two thick fingers into his waistcoat pocket.

“Miss Thorne, isn't it? William Willis, at your service.” Mr. Willis gave a perfunctory bow, which Rosalind answered with a polite nod.

Mr. Willis was several inches shorter than Rosalind. His crooked nose sloped sharply forward, and his shining brow sloped sharply back. Although he had not yet reached his middle years, his dark hair was beating a hasty retreat across his mottled scalp. His reputation, Rosalind knew, was that of a clever man of business. Certainly, his round face was both intelligent and lively, even though he must have had even less sleep the night before than she did.

“You'll forgive a man if that service is a little distracted today.” Willis shook his head up at the workmen in the gallery, carefully gathering up the costly, and heavy, draperies. “Dreadful business. Got to get it all cleaned at once, you see, otherwise we'll be replacing the lot on account of the stains.”

“Of course, Mr. Willis,” replied Rosalind. “And I'm sorry to be interrupting your work, but I have a letter to you from Lady Jersey.”

“Well, we was expecting more of that, wasn't we?” said Mr. Willis placidly. “Would you care to step up to the office? I'm sure her ladyship wants an answer as soon as may be.”

Rosalind assented and followed Mr. Willis to the upper floor and through the first door on the right-hand side of the corridor. Her gaze did stray down the hall, wondering which of the closed doors that lined the hall led to the patronesses' sacred and secret meeting space.

Willis's office was an airy and well-appointed room. A good blaze burned in the hearth, and the draperies were pulled back from the tall windows. Shelves were filled with carefully labeled ledgers, account books lined the walls. The center of the chamber was taken up by the biggest desk Rosalind had ever seen. It was a “partner's desk,” built for not one occupant, but two, and it was currently being used by a plump woman with a serious face.

“Mrs. Willis!” boomed Mr. Willis. “This is Miss Thorne, with a letter for us from Lady Jersey.”

Mrs. Willis looked up at Rosalind, removed her spectacles, and looked again. It was only after this second inspection that she heaved herself to her feet to make her courtesies.

Like her husband, Mrs. Willis was sturdily built. Her dress was dark green woolen stuff, and while her white cuffs might be rumpled, they were edged with lace, as was her stiff collar and ruffled cap. A great ring of keys hung at her waist, and a gold locket hung about her neck along with the chain for her pince-nez. A small notebook and pencil dangled from yet a third chain. The whole of her appearance proclaimed the Willises' middle class prosperity as firmly as Mr. Willis's white stockings and the silver watch chain stretched across his peacock waistcoat.

“I do apologize for disturbing you, Mrs. Willis,” said Rosalind. “I understand you are extremely busy.”

“All in a horrid muddle is what we are,” Mrs. Willis snorted as she resumed her seat and set her spectacles back on her button nose. “Had to take on extra help to get the cleaning done. The men understand they're to take up the gallery carpet as well, Mr. Willis?”

“I made that quite clear, Mrs. Willis.” Her husband drew his chair up to the other half of the desk and broke the seal on Lady Jersey's letter. “I will say, Miss Thorne, I'm a bit surprised that Thorvald Whelks didn't bring this.”

So was Rosalind. Normally, Mr. Whelks followed Lady Jersey like an extremely elongated shadow. Cartoonists and satirists were constantly amusing themselves with the image. “I'm sure Mr. Whelks is occupied with other commissions.”

“To be sure, to be sure. Our Lady Jersey is doubtlessly busy as a whole hive of bees today.”

“And probably enjoying herself to the full,” muttered his wife.

“Now, Mrs. Willis.” Mr. Willis tipped the edge of the letter down to better regard Mrs. Willis. “That's a bit harsh, I do think.”

“But it is true, Mr. Willis, and as none of our grandees is here to listen, I will speak as I please.”

Mr. Willis gave Miss Thorne a glance of apology.

“As it happens, I don't think Lady Jersey is enjoying this morning very much,” said Rosalind. “She does like a spectacle, but not an unpleasant one. It is in bad taste.”

“Ha!” laughed Mrs. Willis. “You've put your finger on something there, Miss Thorne, I will say. Well, Mr. Willis? What are her ladyship's instructions?”

“Says we won't have to worry about having the fire lit in the
office after all, Mrs. Willis,” he answered. “And you can tell Molloy he needn't send over to the Gray Goose for luncheon. The ladies will be meeting elsewhere this afternoon.”

“Thank heaven for small mercies.” Mrs. Willis took up the memorandum book and made a note with the tiny pencil that hung beside it. “Harding has had to chase off a couple of newspapermen this morning. If all the ladies showed up off their usual time, we'd never be rid of the nuisances.”

“Those nuisances help shape the reputation of these rooms, Mrs. Willis,” answered Mr. Willis placidly.

“No doubt, Mr. Willis, like flies help shape the reputation of a jam pot.”

Willis chuckled. “I'll just pen a reply for you, Miss Thorne.” He pulled out a fresh quill and a knife to trim it. “Although I expect her ladyship will not be best pleased with what I have to say.”

Mrs. Willis eyed her husband over the rims of her spectacles. “I hope you're not going to change your mind.”

“Have no fear, Mrs. Willis,” he replied as he put quill to paper. “It's already in hand. I had a reply to my application less than an hour ago, and I expect the man himself shortly.”

“I don't mean to appear inquisitive, but may I know what's the matter?” asked Rosalind. “If there's the possibility of an objection, I might be able to help smooth things over with the patronesses.”

Mrs. Willis looked skeptical, but in the end she shrugged. “Willis is hiring a runner from Bow Street to find out if anybody helped Mr. Aimesworth on his way.”

Surprise robbed Rosalind of her voice for a moment. “But it was an accident!”

Mr. and Mrs. Willis shared a significant look. “Of course,
the patronesses regard our rooms as their property, but they're not, are they?” Mrs. Willis sniffed. “They belong to Mrs. Pitcairn, and she's trusted their management to Willis and me. We're the ones who must oversee the staff and servants and all the rest. We're the ones who must make sure there's money enough to pay the mortgages and the taxes
and
show a profit besides. We need to be sure of our people, don't we? There's a deal of wickedness in the world,” she added piously. “It's for the likes of me and Willis to make certain the grand ladies remain untroubled by it, isn't it?”

Or those grand ladies might just choose to move their exclusive gatherings to other quarters.
Rosalind nodded her understanding. It was not only the lady patronesses who stood to lose by a scandal at Almack's. Even stone walls had to worry about their reputations. “Do you have reason to suspect Mr. Aimesworth might have died because of a robbery?”

Willis frowned as he blotted his letter. “We've no reason but to suspect it. Young toff—I beg your pardon—gentleman, being where he's got no business being, loaded down with seals and chains and a note case and I don't know what all, probably all ready for a night at his club. We've men in and out of here all day when we're getting ready for the season. Furniture, carpets, painters, plasterers, all's got to be repaired and made ready, hasn't it? Might be there's somebody's brother or cousin brought in to do a bit of fetching and carrying in return for a day's wages decided to relieve Mr. Aimesworth of his burdens.”

He wasn't supposed to be here. I told him. I told him. Everything was already arranged!
Lady Blanchard's words came back to Rosalind.

“Ah, I see I've shocked you, Miss Thorne,” said Willis. “I'm sorry about that.”

“No, no, Mr. Willis. It was . . . a passing thought. That's all.” She considered mentioning the wager that Lord Blanchard theorized about, but quickly decided against it. “A runner seems to me an entirely prudent measure. I'm sure the patronesses will agree, but if you think it will help, I'll be sure to emphasize the point.”

“Thank you, Miss Thorne,” said Willis as he handed over his sealed letter. “That would be most welcome.”

Rosalind slid the letter into her reticule. “I will not take up any more of your time, Mr. Willis, Mrs. Willis. I expect, however, we will be seeing more of each other. I'm sure the ladies will also find a great deal of extra work needs to be done in the coming weeks.”

“There's no doubt about that.” Mrs. Willis flipped her account book open again. “Oh, Mr. Willis, you'd best give over . . .” She pointed toward his half of the desk.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, Mrs. Willis. Miss Thorne, I don't want to presume, but I've some articles here . . .” Mr. Willis unlocked his desk drawer and took out a ring of keys and several coins. The key ring had a pitted and spotted brass fob in the shape of an elaborate scrollwork
A
. “They were found this morning in the gallery. Those keys, I expect they belong to Mr. Aimesworth, and probably should be returned to his people.”